


Abundantly Clear

by onceuponamoon



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Gerard thinks that nothing else about Frank will ever surprise him.  Or, more accurately, that Frank seriously can’t do anything else that makes Gerard go, “What the fuck, Frank?” because he feels like he’s seen and heard just about every unorthodox thing that flits through Frank’s mind.  All of those bases are definitely covered.  He wouldn’t even call him an open book; Frank is more of a billboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abundantly Clear

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Basically, I wrote this a long time ago and it's just been sitting in my WIP folder so I figured why the fuck not. Enjoy!

Sometimes, Gerard thinks that nothing else about Frank will ever surprise him. Or, more accurately, that Frank seriously can’t do anything else that makes Gerard go, “What the fuck, Frank?” because he feels like he’s seen and heard just about every unorthodox thing that flits through Frank’s mind. All of those bases are definitely covered. He wouldn’t even call him an open book; Frank is more of a billboard.

“Huh,” Frank says.

Gerard hears it, but he doesn’t look up from his sketchpad, instead choosing to continue the stroke of graphite and smudge it with the edge of his thumb further into the microscopic grooves of the textured paper. 

“ _Huh_ ,” Frank repeats, louder.

This time Gerard gives a half-interested “Hm?” noise of “Yes, Frank, I would be delighted if you chose to elaborate on whatever it is that has captured your attention and made you believe that it should have mine as well,” because Frank usually takes that and runs with it. He doesn’t hear anything else, so Gerard chances a peek up over the leather binding and Frank’s just staring at Gerard.

He doesn’t say anything. Gerard goes back to sketching.

The sound on the television flares up as it changes to a commercial, explaining why “NuvaRing might be right for you.” He vaguely hears the couch creak as Frank stands up and shuffles down the hallway, and then it’s just Gerard and his art and the birth control advertisements. Gerard smudges his thumb down over the fresh lines again and works on filling the shadow without making it look intentional, which is probably more difficult than it should be, and he hears the couch creak again.

Frank clears his throat and then coughs. 

Gerard hunches closer to the paper, wondering why it’s not filling in all the way ( _fuckin’ shitty pencils_ ), and sighs. He lets his legs down, tossing his sketchpad to onto the coffee table with a quiet thwack and then he drops his pencils onto the floor beside the couch. Whatever. He looks over at Frank and Frank just gives him a little grin, pulling the afghan tighter over his shoulders. Gerard gives a mental shrug and turns back to watch the television.

Now the documentary is back on, and – Gerard catches the movement of Frank’s shoulders quivering out of the corner of his eye.

“You okay?”

“What?” Frank returns, confused. His voice is breathy, cracking just a bit when he says, “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”

Gerard frowns. He tucks his knees up under his chin, curling his hands loosely around his knobby ankles, and leans against the arm of the couch for optimum comfort and his viewing pleasure. But if Frank’s getting sick, Gerard needs to get up and go make him some tea, and maybe bring him another hoodie or six, and his skeleton gloves, and turn the air back up or maybe the heat on. He could ask if Frank wants the humidifier brought in here. He brings his a hand up to gnaw on his thumbnail.

Somehow, without Gerard’s knowledge, the program has ended, seguing into another set of commercials.

Frank’s breath hitches and he clears his throat again, giving another almost imperceptible shudder. 

When Gerard looks over, brows furrowed and completely prepared to get up and head for the kitchen, he notices Frank’s eyes are on his and – “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Frank breathes around a smile.

A wave of heat washes over Gerard, head to toe, and all thought pretty much escapes him. After a moment, his brain boots back up and he’s gasping in a breath, remembering that air is his friend, and then his fingers flutter out, longing to touch before Gerard has even registered his own desire. “Uh,” he says.

Laughing, Frank lets the blanket slip down his shoulders, to pool in the crease of his elbows, and - _Oh_ , yes, he’s definitely…

“Any reason why you’re doing this now?” Gerard manages to ask. He’s teasing, gentle, diligently ignoring desire’s ache that settles right in the pit of his stomach and presses against the flesh of his groin. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing sexy about…” He flaps a hand at the television. Gerard cringes because yeah, so not sexy. “…crocodiles eating antelopes.”

“That wasn’t on before!” Frank laughs again, breathily, and Gerard can’t help but _want_. “Whatever. And anyway, I was pretty much watching you,” he says. “You’re always so oblivious to, fucking, everything when you’re drawing. It’s like – ” Frank breaks of into a tiny, breathy moan. One of the ones that shows he really means it, and he’s not just putting on a show for Gerard’s sake. “I thought, ‘I could be sitting over here naked, and he wouldn’t know the difference.’ And _fuck_ – just, _fuck_ , your hands.” 

Gerard is still sitting over in his corner of the couch. He lets his knees splay apart, letting his right leg slide from the cushion and rests his foot on the carpet. The growing bulge in his sweats is obvious, to say the least. “What about them?” he asks, voice already shot with arousal. He rests his right palm on his thigh and his left on his opposite knee. 

The groan that rumbles out of Frank’s throat is just about as hot as the muffled noises of him working his cock beneath the afghan. “I love watching you draw…just, creating something out of nothing. So fucking…just – hold it up,” Frank orders. Gerard immediately complies, lifting his right hand as if he were making a solemn oath. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Just look at it, Gerard. You’ve got great fucking hands… your fingers, and jesus. Your goddamn pinky.”

Frank is breathing all heavy, gasping and hitching, and Gerard…he wants to wait, hear what Frank might tell him to do next, just listen to him go on (and on and on) while he strokes himself, but he can’t. Gerard can’t wait. 

Sparks of amusement light Frank’s eyes. He smirks, laughing and gasping around his next words, “But I was right – you had no idea.”

“I’ll show you no idea,” Gerard says, giggling. He launches forward, yanking the blanket down and off, flinging it behind himself – and only vaguely noting the sounds of it whipping through the air and knocking something over with a smash. Noises aside, Frank is naked. Gerard laughs again, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank says, still slowly fisting cock. He’s smiling softly at Gerard, almost a smirk but it’s much too fond. Then Frank bites his lip and rests his hand on Gerard’s shoulder, thumb pressing lightly right underneath his adam’s apple. 

Gerard leans in, presses one kiss to the side of Frank’s mouth before he goes to his knees on the carpet and shuffles up between Frank’s legs, resting his palms on Frank’s bare thighs. He traces his hands down Frank’s legs, rubbing gently over the slightly textured skin marked with colors and lines over both shins, back up to his scarred, knobby knees and up higher. 

Frank spreads his legs, groaning, and slumps down farther into the couch. His hips are smooth, and Gerard’s hands mold to them perfectly. He grasps them and tugs Frank closer to him – smiling when Frank gasps again. Gerard keeps running his hands over Frank’s body: the swirls of letters on his belly, the dark lines of the birds, up to the webbing over his chest, the bomb, the flame over his heart. Gerard traces the letters of “hope” and Frank shudders, but he pays it no mind. He drinks in the flex of Frank’s biceps and forearms, watching the way the pictures shift with each stroke. Instead of continuing to Frank’s arms, Gerard chooses to venture up Frank’s chest, hands moving across his collarbones to play in the dips, and then up the sides of his neck.

“This is nice,” Frank whispers.

Shifting closer, Gerard smiles as Frank adjusts to him, eyes hooding half-closed as he tugs a bit harder on his cock, splaying his knees out even more so that his balls are right there against Gerard’s belly, hot and heavy through the cotton of Gerard’s shirt. Gerard tucks himself flush against Frank, leaning even closer so that he can run his fingers up over the sharp stubble over Frank’s jaw. 

He grips Frank there, pinkies curling onto his shoulders and forefingers pressing into the groove behind Frank’s ear, and pulls him forward again. Gerard rests his forehead against Frank’s, mouth hovering teasingly over Frank’s parted lips. He smiles, watching the way Frank’s eyelids flutter.

Gerard kisses him.

Frank makes a noise, hungry and urgent, against Gerard’s lips, tongue flickering against the seam to split them apart so that he can lick his way inside. Gerard makes a rough noise of his own, more of a grunt, but it rests heavy in his throat.

For a while it’s just like that – tongues and then teeth and lips and just a bit too much, but not enough just the same. 

Gerard pulls back, separating from Frank with a gentle, slick pop – which sounds so fucking stupid that it makes both of them laugh. He looks in Frank’s eyes, grinning again at the swirl of colors and sparks of delight and amusement. Swooping back in, Gerard presses one chaste kiss to his bottom lip and then trails down. He leans back, and just watches Frank watch him for a few moments.

“I like it when you look at me like that,” he voices, hand slowing to a stop. Frank looks down at his dick, mouth quirked, and rubs his knuckles up the shaft before he drags a finger through the precome leaking down in thick rivulets. When he looks back up, his face is flushed a shade darker. 

“Like what?” Gerard asks faintly. He kneels forward again, resting his chin on Frank’s left knee. 

“Like I’m one of your sketches, or paintings or something,” Frank confesses. He’s whispering, something sacred and soft; a secret Frank is more than willing to share with Gerard. “Like I’m a piece of art and I’m _yours_.” He closes his eyes, resting his hand right on the “and” on his belly, and smiles like he’s content to just sit there on display for Gerard.

“Yeah?” Gerard grins, feels his eyes crinkle in the corners and his nose scrunch up. His face relaxes, softening into a gentle expression as he runs his hands up Frank’s thighs again, watching the way his cock jolts, laying flush against his belly. “Well, you are, Frank. You’re beautiful and you are mine.” 

Frank hums a happy sound and opens his eyes to say, “I love you, you know.”

“You’d better,” Gerard says, pressing his lips to Frank’s thigh. He shuffles closer again, bends to press a kiss to that spot where Frank’s leg meets his groin, and then shifts so that his elbows are resting on Frank’s thighs and he can run his hands over Frank’s belly, his groin, his cock. Frank hisses and Gerard smirks. “Because, as much as you drive me insane, I’m pretty much batshit crazy about you.”

Wriggling his hips impatiently, Frank brings a hand down to push damp black hair back away from Gerard’s forehead and flutters his fingers against Gerard’s skull. Gerard gets the picture, grinning before he slumps in to press more teasing kisses to Frank’s groin. He trails his lips across Frank’s balls, tonguing one and then the other as he runs his hand up the shaft of Frank’s cock. It twitches, and Gerard lifts it from Frank’s belly, forming a tight circle with his thumb and his forefinger just the way Frank likes. 

He kisses down, and then down some more, and then down even farther, smiling against Frank’s ass when he finally gets the hint and slings his leg over Gerard’s shoulder. One deft lick and a gentle flutter of fingers on Frank’s cock gets him groaning like he’s dying. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Gerard tongues at Frank’s hole, groaning a bit at the slightly musky, yet somehow still clean taste. He licks and sucks and nibbles, huffing out a breathy laugh against the textured skin as Frank’s leg twitches and his exhales grow harsher. His hand is still lightly grasped around Frank’s cock, just barely moving and only providing enough friction to be unforgivingly teasing. Gerard licks back up the trail he’d made before, pressing kisses once he arrives back at the base of Frank’s cock, right where his hand meets, and then he tightens his grip.

Frank’s leg slides off Gerard’s shoulder, his foot landing on the floor next to Gerard’s knee with a thump, as Gerard strokes up to the head of Frank’s cock. “Yeah,” Frank breathes, hips shifting restlessly as he rests one hand on Gerard’s shoulder, a warm steadying weight, and the other on his own chest, pinching at his left nipple. Gerard ventures back down, tonguing and kissing at Frank’s sac. “C’mon, Gerard. Faster.”

“Ask nicely,” Gerard snarks, lips still pressed to vibrate against the skin of Frank’s balls with each word. He smirks at Frank from beyond his cock, laughing a bit at the way it takes up his entire field of vision. Gerard moves it to the side, biting his lip to keep from giggling at Frank’s double chin from this angle.

Frank pouts. “Please?” he asks, making his biggest puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Gerard huffs, acting put-upon. He pulls his hand off, and makes heated eye-contact as he brings it up to lick his palm.

A noise crossed between a groan and a whine echoes through the living room and Gerard can’t help but smirk again. “Fuck,” Frank breathes. His thighs tense beneath Gerard’s elbows.

Gerard grips Frank again, skin sliding much easier with the slickness. He gathers precome from the tip, rubbing it down to join his spit, and then Gerard tightens his grip and strokes fast, right under the head. Frank’s right leg kicks out, thumping into the coffee table with a loud crack, but his face is still smooth, relaxed, and his hips are still rolling toward Gerard. He makes a mental note to check for a bruise later, and deliberately slows his stroking.

“Christ, Gerard, you asshole. Don’t…don’t fucking _stop_.” 

“Chill, Frank,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes and pressing his other hand to Frank’s right hip. “I just want to know something.”

“ _What?_ ” he bites, hips cranking up. He’s glistening with a subdued sheen of sweat, eyes on fire and lips peeking open with a glimpse of tongue. Gerard works his hand just a fraction faster.

“Wanna come in my mouth or all over my fingers?”

Frank whines, high in his throat, and throws his head back; and then he’s shooting into Gerard’s hands and onto his own belly with a sharp, “ _Ah!_ ” that melds into this gravelly pained-sounding groan and sends a hot shiver down Gerard’s spine. His hips keep jutting up, spurting two, three, four more times until he finally flops down against the cushions, rubbing his hands over his chest as he shakes through the aftershocks.

“Well, that answers that,” Gerard manages, broken and needy. He brings his hand up, licking over his knuckles and between his fingers before the mess starts to cool. His cock strains harder, and Gerard grinds against the couch a bit. 

“ _Fuck._ ” 

Gerard presses his wet palm against Frank’s thigh again, rubbing around the spots where his elbows left grooves, making sure Frank doesn’t get that pins-and-needles feeling of blood recirculating. He’s grinning up at Frank, breathlessly asking, “Good?”

“C’mere, fucker,” Frank demands, grinning manically. He’s panting, laughing just a bit as he pulls Gerard up. “Christ, it’s like you have no idea what you do to me.”

Frank yanks at Gerard’s sweats, shoving them down and holding onto Gerard’s hip as he steps out of them. Barely managing not to smash forward onto Frank, Gerard ends up straddling his thighs, cock bobbing with his movement. He giggles, pressing one hand onto Frank’s chest to brace himself as he settles. Frank grips Gerard’s wrist, tugging it up to his face. He presses a kiss right in the center of Gerard’s palm.

“Touch yourself for me, Gerard,” Frank says. He releases Gerard’s hand with a soft smile and clutches Gerard’s side with warm fingers. 

Slumping forward, Gerard braces one hand against the back of the couch, fingers curling over the edge, as he grips himself with his other hand. He keeps his eyes intent on Frank’s, jacking himself on autopilot. He’s too worked up for teasing, going at it hard and fast, his eyes roving over Frank’s body. “Uhn, Frank,” Gerard rasps. “Like this?”

“Fuck yeah,” Frank says, grinning. Now _he’s_ rubbing his hands up and down Gerard’s thighs, his eyes still intent on Gerard’s hands stroking his cock. And that’s nice, the way his tattoos glisten and shift in a beautiful rendition of color, but then Gerard’s hips are stuttering, and Frank shoves his fingers up under Gerard’s shirt, making little teasing, almost ticklish, circles with his thumbs and forefingers and _fucking fuck_ , that’s good. “Come on me, Gerard. Do it.”

Stomach tensing, Gerard keens out an, “ _Oh!_ ” as he pumps his fist faster, crooking his wrist when he gets just under the head. He slows down, reveling in the burn of his orgasm searing through him, watching the way his come spills onto Frank’s belly. Gerard’s chest heaves, and Frank’s smirking up at him with hooded eyes. “Jesus fucking shit, Frank.” His thighs keep quivering like he has absolutely no motor control, and gradually, he falls facedown onto the cushion beside Frank. 

“I have the best kinks,” Frank declares. He’s grinning, looking a silly mixture of smug and goofy. 

Gerard eyeballs him, still mostly unable to move. He grins back though, bringing a shaky arm out from underneath himself to pat Frank on the chest. Flicking one of Frank’s nipples, Gerard smirks and says, “Maybe.”

Involuntarily jolting, Frank giggles and snatches Gerard’s hand between both of his own. Gerard is definitely still pretty busy panting into the sofa, but he twists his face out just enough to make out the way Frank soothes his fingers across Gerard’s knuckles, watching the way his brows knit together in concentration – and Gerard can see what Frank sees: the contrast in colors, textures, and shapes. 

He sees why maybe Frank likes Gerard’s so much – simply because they’re so different from Frank’s own. Gerard’s are long and slender, pale and smooth from years of moisturizing, the gentle occupation of art, and little to no sunlight, whereas Frank’s are knobby, a little bent in places from breaks and rebreaks and years of adrenaline-fueled fights, scarred across the knuckles and calloused from chording and strumming, painted over with words and symbols and pictures that are all just so very _Frank_. They’re strong, obviously so, where Gerard’s look delicate.

Frank brings Gerard’s hand up to his lips again, pressing one gentle kiss right to the center of Gerard’s palm. They meet eyes again, and Gerard’s a little bit breathless from the way Frank’s crinkle around the edges – and he just looks so goddamn _happy_. 

“Yeah, okay,” Gerard concedes. “Definitely.”


End file.
